


Mind Tricks Don't Work on Me

by JadedCuntsicle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Beach Holidays, F/M, Florida, Loki hates humanity for a reason, Mdma, Romance, Southern Culture, Wanda Is Weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedCuntsicle/pseuds/JadedCuntsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda takes a much-needed beach vacation, only to get tangled up with a mysterious stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wanda’s white sundress clung to her skin as she waded toward the shore, her long wet hair dripping down her back and her lips tasting of the sea. A swarm of flies was buzzing around her head like nobody’s business. She had given up brushing them off. Even the water offered no relief.

The subtropical getaway was not what she had expected. She had never set foot outside of Sokovia until that spring, but Pietro had spent a couple years with distant relatives in Biarritz, France while she was shut away at boarding school. He told her that the ocean was the most majestic thing he had ever seen. This ocean was as mild as a kitten, nowhere near as fierce as the blazing sun.

On the beach, the sand was snow white and radiator hot. It stretched for miles in either direction, like all the HMTD the folks back home could dream of. It scorched her feet as she scampered across it toward the beach house, but she was at peace with it. There was nothing like a little physical discomfort to drag the mind out of hell.

She reached the backyard the Bed and Breakfast beach house and climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the main floor. It was a rickety old thing, propped up on stilts that bowed slightly on one side, its patchy yellow paint weathered by wind and sun. She could hear her host mother toiling away in the kitchen, and when she opened the screen door she was greeted by the scent of chopped garlic.

“Would you like some more tea, hun?” the host called from the kitchen in her Southern drawl.

“No thank you, m’am,” she replied, addressing her as her children did. The host’s sweet iced tea was honest-to-god one of the most delightful things Wanda had ever experienced, but her ascetic Sokovian biology could only take so much sugar and caffeine, and she’d already had more than she could shake a pitcher at.

“I’m going to have a shower, if that’s all right,” said Wanda, taking a towel from a hook by the door and wiping away as much of the sand and grime as she could.

“Of course, love, make yourself at home. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

Wanda crossed the sun-lit living room and ascended the ladder to loft that housed the guest suite. On one side was a twin bed and a small glass table, complete with a glossy conch shell and a coffee-stained travel guide. On the other was a bookshelf stocked with romance novels and spy thrillers and jigsaw puzzles, and an easy-chair that had seen more than its fair share of ass. Wanda made her way to the private bathroom in the back, a tiny little box with no windows and a cold tile floor.

She peeled off her wet sundress and examined herself in the mirror under the dull yellow light. Her eyes looked small and shadowy, like they wanted to crawl back into her skull and stay there forever. It was no wonder, really.

She looked down at the sink and found a thick bar of artisan soap, wrapped in a paper sleeve and tied with a gingham ribbon. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It had a soft green hue and a delicate fragrance - lemongrass with a hint of sage. She untied the ribbon and read the label.

_“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints is when I carried you.” ~ Courtesy of the Apalachicola Baptist Church Crafts’ Circle. Enjoy your stay._

“Huh,” Wanda muttered, putting the ribbon and sleeve aside. She stepped into the shower and turned the dial almost full circle. She liked the water hot, so hot that it turned her skin pink. Sometimes she thought she could smell her flesh burning. She tried not to entertain the thoughts that followed, but they came all the same. It was a sick sort of compulsion, like the urge to pick a scab.

As the room filled up with steam, her head started spinning. In a heat-induced delirium, she began to hear screams and gunshots and the sound of boots smacking against the pavement. She felt her pulse quickening. She tried to shift her attention to something soothing… the texture of the soap as she worked in into her hair, building up an aromatic lather of seaweed and salt and sage. She watched as the soap suds spiralled down the drain into oblivion, taking the nightmares with them, and took a deep breath.

Still shaking, she dried off and changed into a red halter dress. She sat down on the edge of her bed and began to work the tangles from her hair, breathing deeply and meditatively, the way Pietro had taught her after he rescued her from boarding school. And when she was beginning to feel calm again, she reflected on the series of events that had led her there.

The attack on Sokovia had robbed her of what little she held dear, so when Nick Fury promised her a Green Card, a stipend, and a nice place to stay if she joined his elite band of heroes, she could hardly refuse. And so far, she had no regrets. The first few weeks had been a whirlwind of novelty. On weekends, she went down to the Big Apple with the other members of her team. She got to see ball games with Steve and Sam, sip fancy cocktails at swanky Stark galas, and go on shopping adventures with Pepper and Natasha. The fact that she had so little in common with them only made it easier. They knew who she was and what she had been through, and she figured that if she acted strange they would attribute it to grief, trauma, or cultural adjustment. For once, she didn’t have to worry about being “the weird girl.”

But even better than the weekends were the days she spent at the new Avengers Facility. Maria Hill personally oversaw her orientation and training, which turned out to be an excellent fit. For starters, Maria had the same direct, no-nonsense style that she was used to from the rebel leaders back home. But more importantly, she understood grief. She kept condolences and concessions to a minimum, never praising her resilience or asking why she didn’t seem more upset. She knew that Wanda would grieve in her own way, on her own time.

It was near the end of her first month when the promo team came. They had been hired as part of a campaign to show the world that the Avengers Initiative was moving forward with drums and laurels, with or without S.H.I.E.L.D. And a big part of this was going to be showcasing their fresh new faces.

So they tagged her with a catchy new moniker - the Scarlet Witch. She was ok with that. It sounded mysterious and deadly, if maybe a little pretentious.

Then they whipped her up a snazzy new outfit. It was a bit overkill, but at least it was her favorite color.

Then they feathered her hair, blasted her with make-up, and had her pose for the camera.

_“Lift your chin.”_

_“Bite your lip.”_

_“Bend forward a little… atta girl.”_

It wasn’t her. It was absurdly, ridiculously, laughably not her. And she would have laughed about it, if only she’d had someone to laugh with.

And it was then that the cloud broke, and her grief over Pietro came on with the hot, wet fury of a tropical storm. She needed to get away.

Luckily, Maria was supportive and even managed to scrape up a little extra to help fund a vacation for her. The first thing Wanda did was dye her hair blonde to make herself less recognizable. Ever since the promos, people had been stopping her left, right, and centre for autographs and pictures and questions about the Avengers. It was well-meaning, but Wanda wasn’t in the best state emotionally to handle the attention. Then, she started browsing destinations. Australia? Too far. Hudson Valley? Too close. Moscow? … God no, why was that even a listing?

Then she saw a post for a Bread and Breakfast in the Florida panhandle. _Can you put up with noisy kids, nosey neighbors, and ne’er-do-well relations who may or may not smoke? If so, then come on down for the best slice of Southern Hospitality money can buy._

It sounded intriguing, but more importantly, it was cheap. And so a few mouse clicks and hasty good-byes later, Wanda was off.

She was greeted at the Tallahassee Airport by the B&B host and her three children. All four were plump and golden brown, like perfectly toasted marshmallows. The two boy children wore bright green crocs and brandished plastic sticks with snapping shark heads at the ends. They were busy trying to nip each other when Wanda approached. The youngest, a girl, was hiding (successfully) behind her mother’s chunky leg.

“Boys, I told you to cut it out,” the mom scolded, “Do you want to me to tell Daddy that you disobeyed me?”

“No ma’am,” they said in unison, abandoning their game but not their smirks.

“Now be polite and say hi to the nice young lady,” she instructed.

The taller of the boys mustered a confident “Hello!”, but he was outdone by the other boy, who kept his eyes on the ground while mumbling, “Hi to the nice young lady.”

Wanda laughed. The mom looked mortified. “Mikey, what did I tell you about being smart?”

The boy didn’t respond, but the mom seemed to have done all the parenting she could manage in one standing. She shook her head in resignation and proceeded to ask Wanda about her flight as they waddled out of the airport and into the 10AM sunshine. The air was balmy and surprisingly hot for so early in the day. They piled into an SUV-shaped sauna, which quickly turned into an SUV-shaped igloo, and cruised down the highway. Sure enough, the boys didn’t shut their mouths once. The whole ride long, Wanda was treated to a serenade of camp songs and snapping sharks and bulldozer impressions. She tried to tune it out, but her ears perked up when she heard, “I call Iron Man!”

She held her breath, worried that if they got on the subject of the Avengers they might suddenly recognize her, even with blonde hair and no make-up.

“No, _I_ wanna be Iron Man,” protested Mikey, “You _always_ get to be Iron Man. _You_ be Thor this time.”

“Why don’t you wanna be Thor? He’s stronger,” said the older brother.

“But you said he looks like Fabio!”

“Fine, be Captain America then.”

“Captain America is gay!”

“BOYS!” shouted the mom, “I don’t want to hear that kind of language.”

“But mo-om, Danny won’t let me be Iron Man.”

“Why can’t you both be Iron Man?” suggested the mom, “there’s a bunch of him.”

“No, mom, those are just his suits,” said Danny matter-of-factly, “There’s only one actual Iron Man.”

“What about his friend then, what’s-his-face? The black guy?”

“Oh yeeeeah, War Machine! I forgot about him. He’s awesome, I’ll be him. You can have Iron Man, Mikey.”

“YES!”

And so the boys commenced with their role-play, which consisted mainly of making thruster and blaster sounds and the occasional bad imitation of JARVIS. Crisis averted, for mom and Wanda alike.

An hour later they took the off-ramp to the beach town. The mom announced that she had promised to take the kids out for lunch.

“You ever been to a Cracker Barrel before?” she asked Wanda.

“No, Mrs. Jonas,” she answered.

“Please, call me Sherry, and lemme tell you something, you haven’t been to the south until you’ve been to a Cracker Barrel. My treat.”

She hadn’t lied - it was a treat, but not on account of the food. The carrots were more sugar than vegetable and the toothless geriatrics nearby spoiled what little appetite she could muster. But there was plenty to feast the eyes upon: rocking chairs, an oversized checkerboard, cowboy-hatted crooners and old-timey medicine shelves stocked with glass jars “for what ails ye.”

And then there was the store. Wanda had never seen so much charmingly useless junk crammed into one space. She wandered around while the children picked out their one-toy-each, pausing to fiddle with a puzzle here or sniff a candle there. She was especially enchanted with the porcelain dolls, with their perfect ringlets and eerily livid eyes. But there was one in particular that stopped her in her tracks. It had shiny black curls that glistened like strips of licorice and cold blue eyes that seemed to be watching from another dimension. There were others like it, but there was something different about this one, something that gave Wanda the willies. She touched her finger to exquisite red lips, then tapped the bristly lashes, making the eyelid go open and shut, open and shut.

“Do you have any questions, ma’am?” asked a shop clerk. Wanda jumped.

“Oh, no, I’m just looking,” Wanda replied, pulling her hand away from the doll.

The clerk gave her a funny look and added, “Well just let me know if you need anything.”

Wanda left the doll section and found the family near the candy jars. The children had picked out their toys and were now confronted with a more difficult task - picking out a candy stick.

“Would you like a candy stick, hun? I’m having one,” said Sherry with a wink. Wanda’s eyes were instinctively drawn to the jar that was the most full - the least popular flavor, presumably. Clove. She took one.

“Interesting choice, can’t say I’ve tried it myself,” said Sherry, reaching for the last stick of watermelon.

The beach house was a 10 minute drive from the Cracker Barrel, and Wanda spent the rest of the afternoon settling in and exploring the beach while Sherry struggled to get her children ready for day camp. This was just a few hours ago, but it had felt like an eternity. Wanda was used to cramped quarters and crowded streets, to chaos and comrades and the fight to survive. Never before had she been able to hear the sound of her own heart beating.

Sherry announced supper, pulling Wanda out of her reverie. She rested her comb on the glass table and went downstairs, where a basket of garlic-fried oysters and biscuits was waiting for her on the table. The kids were still at camp and Sherry was busy gabbing away on the phone, so Wanda ate her supper alone on the porch under the tinkling sun-and-moon windchimes. She gazed out upon the glistening expanse of ocean and decided this wasn’t so bad after all. After helping clean up as much as Sherry would allow, Wanda figured it was as good a time as any to check out the fairgrounds she had seen from the Crack Barrel.

**  
  
**


	2. Chapter 2

The bright yellow day was settling into a deep-orange evening. Seagulls squawked overhead and thumping music from party boats ricocheted off the water. Wanda strolled along the sandy pedestrian walkway toward the town, happy that the heat was finally letting up and the flies along with it. A couple of young men wearing gold chains looked her up and down. One of them whistled. She looked away. She didn’t think she would ever get used to this aspect of American culture - men in Sokovia would never dream of being so disrespectful. They would just ignore you until they had need of you, and then they’d chew you up and spit you out. But perhaps this was a cultural misunderstanding. Maybe they were just being friendly. She could find out if she wanted to, but she knew better than to dip into people’s minds willy nilly. She had learned that the hard way.

It was twilight by the time she had reached the fairgrounds, and the blinking lights of the ferris wheel flashed brightly against the bruisey-blue sky. She paid the entrance fee and began to wander around aimlessly, hypnotized by the spinning tilt-a-whirl, the scent of funnel cake, the exaltant chime of a new high score.

She bought some cotton candy, which she had never tried before. She pulled a tuft from the pink cloud and popped it in her mouth. She was disappointed at how quickly it dissolved into sugary slush. A few more bites in and she realized she was going to need some water, so she got in line at a food and beverage stand next to the carousel.

She watched the horses go up and down, up and down, gleaming in the light of the streetlamps. Mirrors caught and reflected myriad lights as they moved round and round, pink and purple, green and gold, and oh! were those sparks?... no, just a trick of the light. Up and down, round and round, following the whim of the carnival waltz, which was just a touch out of tune. Wanda began to feel dizzy. She looked away.

To the other side of her was a bouncy castle filled with screeching children and a dart booth manned by a bored teenager playing with his phone. Just beyond that was billboard-sized clown head with the mouth cut out. Inside the mouth was a man sitting atop a mysterious contraption.

“You don’t stand a chance!” the man shouted.

In her curiosity, Wanda forgot about her thirst and made her way toward the strange attraction. She then noticed the kid throwing beanbags at it.

“I haven’t had a bath in WEEKS!” the man carried on, “if my wife can’t get me to do it, what makes you think you can, son?”

A few people laughed. “You gonna take that, Aiden?” said one woman. “You get him Aiden!” shouted another, “you get that nasty old man!”

Wanda heard crying coming from the cotton candy cart. She looked over and saw a little boy stomping his feet and throwing a tantrum. He was upset because the cotton candy had run out and the staffer needed to make more. Over at the dart booth, the teen had pocketed his phone to attend to a customer. The horses on the carousel went up and down.

She turned back and realized that the man was sitting above a pool of water.

“You gonna give up just like that, big guy?” said the man, “One more ticket, one more round, one more chance to make your mother --”

There was a click, and then... SPLASH! The man fell into the pool, and the LED lights around the clown’s head twinkled in celebration. Wanda had missed the throw that did it, but she did see a woman with a big blonde hairdo give her friend a high-five.

The mother of the crying child had dragged him behind a tree for a spanking. Now he was wailing louder than before. The teen at the dart booth looked flabbergasted, his eyes darting between dart board to dart thrower. The latter seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in the game. The children in the bouncy castle jumped up and down.

The carousel was slowing to a stop.

“WHO can’t get you to take a bath?” the victorious woman sassed, putting long-nailed hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side in what was clearly an act. A few men nearby guffawed.

“That there’s my wife everybody,” said the man, climbing out of the pool and back on to the seat, “And don’t let her turn you soft - she’s had plenty of practice.”

“Dude, come to the dart booth - you have to see this...” Wanda looked over and saw the dart booth attendant talking into a walkie-talking. Then she noticed that a few people had stopped to watch his customer.

“I’m telling you man, this guy is hitting a bullseye _every. freakin. time..._ ”

Wanda gave the dart thrower a closer look. He was tall and shockingly pale for someone in Florida in the summertime, with dark wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. His features were drawn and focused.

“...no, not dead center, but still…”

“Are you the witch lady?” chimed a sweet voice.

Wanda’s heart caught in her throat. She almost choked on her cotton candy. She looked down and saw a cherubic face of gazing up at her.

“Who is the witch lady?” asked Wanda.

“You are, of course!” said the little girl with a big, gappy grin, “I saw you on the TV! You were all like -,” and the girl made an elaborate gesture with her hands.

_God, is that what I look like?_

“No, I’m sorry, I think you’re mixing me up with someone else,” she stuttered. The cotton candy was turning to goo between her fingers.

“But it WAS you! I SAW!” belted the little girl.

“Well, there are seven billion people in the world, there are bound to be look-alikes,” Wanda insisted futilely. By now there were a few people were staring at her, but fortunately, the man at the dart booth was keeping most of the attention away.

“Can you do that thing where you make the red fire come out of your hands?” the girl pressed on.

“No, like I said, I am not - whoever it is you’re talking about. Where are you parents?”

“I don’t know. We were on the merry-go-round and my mommy was in the chair with my sister because she’s a baby and can’t ride the horses. Then I got off and they were gone. But I don’t care because I want you to be my mommy.”

“Uh, maybe we should try to find her -”

“NO! I want YOU to be my MOMMY! Only you can make the bad guys go away!” Wanda could feel the eyes upon her, trying to decide if what the girl believed was true. She looked around at them and shrugged awkwardly.

“PLEASE be my mommy! PLEEEEASE!” the girl wailed, tugging at Wanda’s dress. Wanda felt the tie behind her neck beginning to come undone. In desperation, Wanda brushed the girl off before she managed to expose her in more ways than one and turned away to retie her dress. The girl started to cry. Wanda was tempted to use her powers to soothe her, but she had resolved not to use them on this trip. And she had never tried them on a child before. There might be consequences.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” said a silky voice. Wanda spun around. It was the man from the dart booth, squatting down beside the girl and holding something behind his back.

“Amberly,” said the girl through sniffles.

“Amberly, that’s pretty,” the man said softly, “Well, Amberly. How would you like…”

He revealed what he was holding behind him. It was a monstrosity. A giant lump of cheese with a cracked-out face.

“... a spongebob!” He wiggled it around and the girl erupted into a fit of high-pitched giggles. Wanda snorted.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we leave this young lady alone and go find your mummy. Then, you can keep my hard-earned spongebob. Deal?”

“Ok!” she said, “she wasn’t the witch lady anyway, just a meany.”

The man looked at Wanda and smirked, then took the girl’s hand and led her away.

Wanda sighed with relief, only to realize that she had just let a stranger walk off with a lost child. She followed the pair until the girl was handed over to a very flustered and very grateful mother, who seemed reluctant to let the rescuer get away without some kind of reward. Eventually, he turned around and wandered back in her direction. Wanda, hoping to avoid an awkward conversation, returned to the food and beverage line she had abandoned a half hour ago.

It was no use. He got in line right behind her.

“Children. Such wild imaginations...” he said.

“Thank you,” said Wanda, barely glancing over her shoulder.

“Don’t mention it. I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for somebody’s hero, either.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered Wanda in agreement. She wondered if she was socially obligated keep up a conversation at this point. She wished the line would move faster.

“Still, it was a flattering mistake,” he mused, “The Scarlet Witch is quite beautiful…”

Now Wanda had no choice but to turn around. To her surprise, he wasn’t looking at her, but at the carousel. She could see the reflection of horses in his clear, bright eyes, going up and down, up and down...

“...but don’t worry,” he added, turning to face her, “it is obvious that you are not her.”

“Good to know,” said Wanda, suddenly annoyed and inexplicably hurt. She looked ahead and saw that the line had barely budged. Damn. She’d have to think of something else to say.

“So, who is this Scarlet Witch anyway?” she asked.

“What, you haven’t heard? She’s one of the new Avengers.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Not a fan of the Avengers?”

“They were responsible for the destruction of my homeland,” said Wanda, sticking with the story she had told her host family.

“Ah, so that would explain the lovely accent, and maybe your resemblance to Ms. Maximoff. Perhaps she is your cousin? Or sister even? I hear that it was not unusual for families to fall apart in Sokovia.”

Ugh. He was one of _those_. Wanda was so not in the mood. She scoffed and turned back around.

“I’m sorry, did I upset you?” he asked.

“I’m not an idiot. I know this game. ”

“What game?”

“This game of compliments and insults. Go back to playing darts, you’ll have more success there.”

The man was stunned speechless. He looked like she had slapped him. In the seconds that followed, her annoyance gave way to embarrassment and regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m not in a good place right now.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” he said, “You were right, I was being a cad.”

“Your choice of words is unusual,” responded Wanda, turning his game around on him, “where are you from? Some podunk town in England?”

He smiled and chuckled airily. “Something like that.”

“No, really,” said Wanda.

“Really!” he replied. Wanda didn’t press further.

“Sooo, what brings you here?” she asked, deciding to roll with it.

“To this line? I wanted to talk to you of course,” he answered with a cheeky grin.

Wanda rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know what I meant.”

“I’m here on business. Nothing interesting, I assure you,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Tell me.”

“I’m recruiting.”

“For what?”

“The military.”

“The United States military?”

“Not exactly,” he said

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Are you with MI6 or something?”

“Eheh, I wish. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Sanja,” she said.

“Erik,” he answered, extending his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Next customer!” called the lady at the stand. Finally.

“I’ll have fries and a tap water please,” said Wanda.

“We only have bottles, ma’am,” said the lady, tugging on one of her giant hoop earrings.

“Ok. That then,” said Wanda.

“Nine seventy, please.”

“Rip-off,” Wanda muttered to herself as she thumbed through her wallet for cash.

“I’ll cover for her...” said Erik to the lady.

“What? No!” Wanda interjected.

“...and what sorts of spirits do you serve?”

“No spirits here, baby,” the lady replied, “You’ll have to go to the bar on the other side.”

“Lemonade then,” he said, handing the lady a 20.

“I can pay for it myself,” said Wanda peevishly.

“Think of it as recompense for putting up with my bad manners,” he said, taking his change and lemonade.

“But THIS is bad manners. I am perfectly capable of -”

“All right, would you like the change then? Here, take it,” he said, thrusting a fistful of nickels and dimes her way.

“I don’t want that! I have no where to put it!” Wanda replied.

“Your fries, ma’am,” said the lady at the booth with a tone of annoyance. She picked them up and discovered that the grease had already seeped through the container.

“Well, what would you have me do?” asked Erik coolly.

“How about nothing?” answered Wanda, grabbing a bunch of napkins and putting them under the greasy cardboard box, “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Fine,” he replied curtly, “I’ll leave you be. Have a good evening, Miss Wa- Sanja.” He turned his back to her and stormed off.

_What did he almost call me…?_

“Girl, you shoulda just let that boy pay,” said the lady at the booth.

“Probably…” answered Wanda absent-mindedly.

“Mmmhm,” said the lady, “You must not ‘a seen him at darts…”

But Wanda wasn’t paying attention. Something was up and she didn’t like it. Was he a secret agent tasked with spying on her? If so, he really blew it.

She would make an exception for this. She had to find out. She ran after him, and when she was close enough, she dived into his mind.

She gasped.

Head-spelunking was always a trip, but this was unlike anything she had ever experienced - a swirling chasm of raw, disembodied emotion, as black and as wild as the cosmos, with a primal intensity that she only ever encountered in nightmares. Hurt, hatred, resentment… hope? Tenderness, excitement, and fear... so much fear.

She pulled out. The world slowly came into focus again as the chasm slipped away like the memory of a dream. She looked up and saw him staring back at her. His mouth was agape and a bead of sweat was trickling down his temple. But before he could say anything, Wanda turned and ran.

Past the carousel, past the tilt-a-whirl, past the employees chaining up the entrance, and out into the moonlit night.

And as she ran down the dirt path along the sparkling black waters, she tried to make sense of what she’d experienced.

_Where were the thoughts? Where were the pictures? The words, the ideas, the memories?_

_Who the hell was that guy?_

 


	3. Chapter 3

Loki turned on the desk lamp in his cheap motel room and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried not to look in the mirror across from him, but he couldn’t help himself. His hair was a wind-whipped mess and his eyes were shadowy pits against a sallow canvas, like graves dug into the sand. The sort of grave that they had dumped _her_ body into many a year ago, broken and discarded, like a piece of spoiled meat. No, he wouldn’t think about that. He had a mission, and a difficult one at that. He looked away.

How he was going to succeed looking as ghastly as this was beyond him, but he supposed looks didn’t really matter after all. Women had always been an enigma to him. Growing up next to Thor, he watched time and time again as his brother wooed and bedded all the prettiest girls. He knew there was a recipe to it, and he was clever enough to figure it out - you needed to use just the right combination of bitter and sweet, kindness and cruelty. But he lacked the intuition to go with his wits and always ended up going too far in one or the other direction.

Now, things were different. The events of the last few years had changed him, twisted him  into a grotesque facsimile of the already not-so-nice young man he had been. He knew this in his heart, even if he would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself. He’d endured rejection, torture, the shame of defeat, and finally, the loss of the only person who had loved him unconditionally. It had hardened him, made him more reckless and, paradoxically, more confident than ever before.

Whether it was this or the mere fact that he was now king, he could not say, but suddenly, the women of Asgard were drawn to him like flies to a carcass. Why they would want him now that he was a patricidal kingslayer was beyond reason. It was undignified and animalistic. Vile, even. Loki knew that they were only pretending to believe his story - that his miraculous return from Svartalflheim had shocked Odin so thoroughly that he fell into Odinsleep, leaving the burden of the throne to him.  Nobody bought it, but nobody challenged it either. At least not anymore. He had seen to that.

Loki stood up and wandered out on to the balcony that overlooked the crowded parking lot and rested his elbows on the rusty metal railing. The air was balmy and the night alive with the dull roar of crickets and cicadas. A row of glossy palm trees glistened in the breeze, and a soft white light emanated from a grimy light fixture overhead. He looked up and watched the gnats and one fuzzy brown moth dance around it. Flutter and settle. Flutter and settle. As if they could never get close enough.

With a flick of the wrist, he sent the moth came tumbling to the ground. Belly up, its wings twitching slightly.

It seemed like a tiresome existence anyway.

He was about to return to his room when a sweet, earthy scent accosted his nostrils. It was familiar, like so many things in this corner of the universe. He looked to his left and saw an old man a few doors down taking puffs from a glossy wood pipe.

The man nodded at him. He nodded back.

It was a wholesome scent, so unlike the crude stench of cigarettes that pervaded every nook and cranny of this joint. It gave him one of those long-ago-and-far-away feelings, like he had been touched by a tender darkness that was forever receding into the past… into the future. It took him back to sandy white beaches and starry skies, to torchlit nights and the sound of...

No, he wouldn’t think about that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update. The next one will come quicker, I promise! :)

Wanda slipped in and out of the hazy clutches of sleep, intermittently roused by the glare of the sun and the sound of two women prattling on downstairs.

_“...and I told her, look, the boy is sixteen years old, you don’t set a curfew, you don’t ask him where he’s going, did you really think he was gonna keep it to himself?”_

_“If that’d been one of mine…”_

_“Just you wait, those two are gonna be troublemakers.”_

_“Oh I know… they’re a handful enough already.”_

Wanda cursed them in her sleep-induced irritability, turning over and burying her head under the pillow in a feeble attempt to block out light and sound.

BANG BANG BANG. A body crumpled to the ground and blood pooled around her feet.  A sticky darkness closed in around her with a stench like rotten pomegranate. She looked down at her hands and found them smeared with red brine. She had done something wrong, what was it? Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She turned and ran, as hard and fast as she could, until the ocean was in view. Nearly tripping over herself, she plunged her soiled hands into the cleansing froth of the breaking waves.

The sun was beating down mercilessly. She paced up and down the beach in search of shelter until she saw a vendor stationed a ways up where the sand meets the grass. Merchant and wares alike were shrouded in obscurity, barely discernible under the shade of a giant beach umbrella.

She approached cautiously. The vendor was silent, his eyes hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. One by one, the merchandise came into the light - perfect white skin, rosy cheeks, ringlets that shimmered like cobwebs in the sun. It was the dolls from the Cracker Barrel, and among them...

“Look, Pietro, that’s the one!” Wanda said, pointing at the black-haired doll with the strange eyes.

“Pietro is dead, sweety,” answered Sherry, materializing beside her, “We’re your family now.” She motioned toward the stall, where a bikinied Maria Hill now stood beside the vendor, waving and smiling brightly. The vendor himself remained seated, holding a cosmopolitan in one hand and Thor’s hammer in the other.

He removed his hat. It was the Vision. Maggots were crawling in and out of his nostrils, his ears, his eye sockets. He lifted his drink to her.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Wanda.

“He’s sick,” answered Maria.

“What of?” Wanda persisted. But it was too late, the scene was slipping from her grasp. Her eyes snapped open; her sheets were damp with perspiration and her neck was stiff. She glanced at the clock.

4 PM.

_Damn it_ , she thought as she rolled out of bed, the nightmare fading from recollection. She rummaged through her suitcase, passing up summer dresses in favor of more usual fare - black t-shirt and cutoffs. Downstairs, she heard a husky voice droning on in virtual soliloquy while Sherry interjected with the occasional “Mhm,” or “You’re tellin’ me.”

Mentally preparing herself to make a new acquaintance, Wanda shimmied down the ladder to the main room. The husky voice fell to a low whisper. Wanda glimpsed the speaker sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island where Sherry was peeling potatoes. It was a rather withered-looking woman with boy-cut hair and and leathery skin - a perfectly toasted marshmallow with the innards sucked out. She gave Wanda a quick once over.

“Well, good afternoon sleeping beauty!” exclaimed Sherry, “Nice of you to join us.”

“Afternoon,” Wanda answered weakly.

“You slept like a log,” continued Sherry, “Must’ve been exhausted. Either that or you have superpowers, cause I sure as hell couldn’t sleep like that.”

Wanda laughed internally at the irony. She did have an uncanny ability to sleep long hours, but it had nothing to do with her actual superpowers. And besides, she hadn’t actually slept that much.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my aunt Deb?” continued Sherry, “She lives next door.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Deb, extending a wrinkly hand that delivered a surprisingly firm handshake, “how long you here for?”

“Thirteen days,” Wanda answered, tucking her thumbs into her belt loops.

“Thirteen? Lucky number,” said Deb wryly.

“Well, I’m not superstitious,” answered Wanda.

“Is that right? Well, I ‘spect you will be before you leave here. Have you heard about the ghost in the attic?”

“Oh, Deb, don’t you start on that nonsense,” said Sherry, “Sanja, can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Beer?”

“Beer would be nice, thanks,” answered Wanda abstractedly, “So, what’s this about a ghost?”

“I’ll have no talk of ghosts in this house,” said Sherry, opening the fridge and removing a six pack of Bud Light.

“She’s gonna hear about it sooner or later,” said Deb darkly.

“Not under my watch,” said Sherry, doling out the Bud Lights, “Oh, how’s Jim doing, by the way? Still playing tight end?”

Sherry’s haste to change the subject only sharpened Wanda’s curiosity, but apparently it would have to wait. She retreated to the patio and gazed down at the beach, where Mikey was burying Danny up to the neck in sand. A shirtless man with a sunburn was grilling hamburgers on a charcoal grill.

Life seemed so easy and carefree for these people. What troubled them? What kept them up at night, these folks that had never known the pangs of hunger or the looming threat of assassination?

“... and gas prices are through the effin’ roof,” Wanda overheard Deb say from inside, “and they’re just gonna get worse if we get another one of those liberal loonies in the White House …”

_Illusory fears…_ Wanda thought, _the fears of the blissful and sated. They’re afraid that something going to snatch their idyllic existence away from them, hold them accountable for their excess._

But wisdom intervened and put this train of thought to an end, and she felt ashamed for having passed judgment so hastily. During her short career as a superhuman, she’d had the fortune and misfortune to explore hundreds of human minds. And if there was one thing that had left an impression on her, it was the human capacity for fear. People would always find something to worry about, and the intensity of the worry was seldom proportional to the actual danger.

Her thoughts were recalled to the matter that had kept her awake last night, tossing and turning until the break of dawn - her encounter with Erik, or whoever he was. Her attempt to read his mind had shaken her, but the more she thought about it, the harder it was for her to figure out why. The emotions were all familiar, only somehow darker and richer in timbre. What was unusual was what was missing - namely, everything _else_. The closest thing Wanda had experienced to it was when she was practicing her craft on lab rats, but even then, there had been physical sensations to provide context for the emotion.

But his behaviour had been perfectly human. Surely he had thoughts. Was he able to block her somehow? Was he an agent for some foreign military that was secretly developing counter-weapons in preparation for others like her? But then why didn’t he have a better story?

Her train of thought was interrupted when Sherry stepped out to offer her another beer, which Wanda accepted without second thought. She was no stranger to the bottle - she had discovered at an early age that there was no better solvent for social anxiety, and by the time Sherry invited her to join them for a cook-out on the beach, she was thoroughly warm to the prospect.

She followed Sherry and Deb down to the beach, where the family gathered around a picnic table strewn with plastic cutlery, fresh cut watermelon, potato salad, and all sorts of burger fixings. It was a pleasant evening despite the smouldering heat. The sun shone in a rippling band of light on the water, and all was quiet except for the occasional blare of a passing ski-boat.

There were flies all over the watermelon.

“My God, they’re especially bad this year,” said Sherry, swatting at them to no avail, “must be this global warming.”

“Mo-om, you said the Lord’s name in vain,” said little Mikey.

“Your mama’s had a bit too much to drink,” said Deb, “she’s even talkin’ about global warming.”

“I dunno, I think it might be for real,” said Sherry, “It’s been really bad this past while.”

“It’s called a _localized phenomenon_ \- just cause it’s happening don’t mean it’s gonna keep on,” said Deb.

“Next thing I know you’re gonna be blaming it on the gays,” said Sherry.

“Pisshaw, I’m not that nuts,” said Deb.

Something grazed the back of Wanda’s leg. She looked down and saw a chubby toddler with her fingers in her mouth. The child was so quiet Wanda had almost forgotten Sherry had a daughter.

“Hello,” said Wanda.

“Hi,” said the child, looking up at her and then shyly looking away. Wanda followed her eyes to the burger chef.

“Is that your dad?”

“No. That’s Uncle Joe. My daddy’s never home. He’s a Marine.”

“Oh yeah?” said Wanda, “Where is he stationed?”

“Mercedes! Leave Miss Sanja alone!” Sherry interjected.

“No, it’s ok, she’s not bothering me,” answered Wanda.

“I like Uncle Joe better anyway,” continued Mercedes, “Him and Aunt Deb are nice.”

Following the others’ example, Wanda prepared her fixings and got in line at the grill. Uncle Joe, who she discovered was Deb’s husband, acknowledged her with a friendly smile. He seemed to be a man of few words, but whether this was by nature or necessity Wanda couldn’t tell. Over the course of the meal, Wanda learned more about him than anyone else in the family - that he was an auto-mechanic, that he refused to wear sunscreen, that he had a tattoo of a roaring grizzly bear on his back. However, none of this was learned from the mouth of Uncle Joe. Deb had enough words for two of them and then some.

Most of the questions directed at Wanda were polite and superficial. _How do you like Florida? What’s your favorite food?_ She suspected Sherry had informed them of her fictitious situation (that she was a Sokovian refugee currently living with distant relatives in New York) and advised them not to pry. Wanda had no complaints.

When the meal was over, the boys asked Sherry if they could go to the fair.

“If Uncle Joe can still stand the sight of you,” answered Sherry.

“Not a problem for me,” said Joe, dousing the charcoal with a pail of water that sizzled into steam.

“Can Sanja come with us?” asked Danny, looking briefly at Wanda and then away, his tan face turning lobster pink.

“I’m sure she has better things to do than go around with you kids,” said Sherry before Wanda could respond, “Come on, boys, help me bring this stuff in and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Wanda offered to help but Sherry wouldn’t allow it. When Sherry and the kids were inside, Deb withdrew a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She placed the butt between her crinkly lips and lit up, shielding the flame from the wind.

“Smoke?” asked Deb, extending the pack toward Wanda.

“No thanks, I quit some time ago,” answered Wanda.

“Good on ya,” added Deb, “is it much of a thing where you’re from?”

“Yes, among certain groups,” she answered.

“Lemme guess - the angry, young, and poor?”

“More or less.” In truth, it had been particularly popular amongst the resistance, but she wasn’t going to mention that. The scent was taking her back… the smoke and fire, the restlessness of youth, the thrill of standing up with comrades and denouncing the powers-that-be. And in retrospect, she wasn’t so sure it was the cause that had stirred her so much as the sense of belonging.

“I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, growing up in that sort of environment,” said Deb, finally broaching the subject.

Wanda was silent for a moment. The soft rush of the sea seemed strangely distant. A fly landed on her wrist, and she flicked it off.

“Every environment has it’s challenges,” she answered.

“Got anyone to go back to? Friends? A boyfriend?” asked Deb.

Wanda considered this. In all honesty, she hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of returning to Sokovia. Most of her friends had been in the resistance, and now that it was over, she wasn’t sure how much she would have in common with them. The Sokovia she knew and loved was gone. She felt the emptiness inside opening up again, a trembling warmth in the pit of her stomach. She tried to push it down.

“Not really,” said Wanda, her voice catching.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Deb.

The silence was as heavy as the evening humidity. Wanda stared at the curvy patterns in the wood of the picnic table, making out flowers and palm trees and screaming faces. The trembling warmth inside her was escalating.

“I think I’ll go for a walk now,” said Wanda, fighting to control her voice.

“Of course, you go enjoy yourself, love,” Deb answered softly.

Gathering her bearings, Wanda got up and headed toward to the residential street behind the beach house, biting her lip and clutching her arms to control the shaking. She passed the first neighboring house, and then the next, and finally, when she saw that there was nobody around, she burst into tears. The sobs shook her to the core, pressing up and gushing out like water from a hot geyser. She saw his smiling face swimming before her eyes, heard his laughter, the golden sound of his voice.

She cursed in Sokovian and kicked a piece of gravel, sending it skidding across the road. She dug her nails into her arms and stifled a scream. Why hadn’t she fought harder? Why hadn’t she stayed closer to him during the battle? Why had she allowed him to talk her into going through with Baron von Strucker’s experiments in the first place?

She tried to remind herself that she should be proud, that he had died a hero, defending the nation he loved. It was what he would have wanted, after all. But somehow, this thought only made her angrier. Pietro had always loved Sokovia first and Wanda second. For her, it was the other way around. She would much rather have been refugees together than heroes apart. And she hated herself for it. She hated that she could never be as selfless as he had been.

There was no where to sit so she kept walking. She had no idea how far she had wandered by the time she had wept herself dry. The landscapes were wilder here, the beach grass taller and the houses further apart. The gravel road eventually fed into a footpath that swerved through a patches of pine trees along the beach. She was beginning to suspect she had reached the end of civilization when she heard the woody tones or a guitar playing a mediterranean lilt. She rounded a corner and a public beach came into view. Pockets of young adults were gathered around logs and fire pits, laughing and drinking from brown paper bags.

A couple walking in the opposite direction passed her, each with a cigarette in hand. In her depleted state, the craving was irresistible. She gave in and asked to bum a smoke. It was vacation after all. She took a puff and let it linger in her mouth. The nicotine buzz warmed her like the embrace of an old friend. She continued along the path, holding the cigarette in one hand and shielding her eyes with the other as she gazed out at the glistening expanse. The setting sun was melting into the water like a giant orange snow-cone, and the first stars were twinkling high in the sky.

On the far side of the beach was a long boardwalk stretching out into the ocean. There was one other person sitting near the end, their face hidden in a mass of dark hair. Wanda climbed the steps and moved forward idly, the planks creaking beneath her feet. Then, the person at the other end tucked his hair behind his ear.

His likeness of was unmistakable.

Her heart pounding, Wanda continued to advance despite her better judgment. She simply had to know. When she was just twenty feet away, she decided to try a little experiment, something tame, just to see what she was up against.

She projected the image of a snapping turtle his way.

No response, and then, without turning around, he said --

“I wouldn’t bother. Mind tricks don’t work on me.”


End file.
